Rodney Curtis

Was Wednesday really my last blog entry? You can tell someone’s not in the hospital these days.

It has been a very scattered, yet relaxing time away from the front lines. Sleep seems to be my biggest luxury so far. I can’t explain why sleeping in the hospital is so tough; it should be the number one easiest thing because everyone since Hippocrates has said sleep is one of the body’s most important defenses.

My night nurses, the ones who knew me best, loved to Q-shift me, meaning they’d check my vital signs once at the beginning of the shift and once at the end. Barring any night noises or interruptions or beepings or buzzings or people emptying my trash at O-dark thirty it usually meant I’d be able to sleep an hour or two before the constant drip from my gal-pal Ivy sent me to the toilet.

The past several nights I’ve gotten 7-8 hours at a stretch, then a few more … then some more. Home life is a posh existence.

Marci and I went down to the Karmanos Cancer Institute to up the ante in this war on leukemia. They seem to love anomalies and eat them for breakfast. If my genes are screwed up or if I should want or require experimental treatments they are ready like Igor and Dr. F to jump in. I don’t actually know when I’ll be inserted into their system but the myriad vials of blood they sucked out of me indicate they’re arming themselves for battle.

What else? Of course I should mention the incredible karaoke fundraiser going on tomorrow, Sunday, from 2-6 at The Inn Place in Royal Oak. It was organized by Marty Westman with maybe a helping hand from Sally Tato Snell, but both are so modest I can’t actually tell. The Facebook group for the event seems to not allow everybody to see the event so here’s a poster, also created by the Fabulous Mr. Westman.

“So how are you doing, Rodney” is the number one question I hear continually. And yes, I’m happy to answer. I don’t really feel like I have cancer or anything other than the easy fatigue that hovers right nearby. I know I’m in the middle of an enormous fight and these brutal cells inside me just aren’t agreeing to a ceasefire. I appreciate the thousands of well-wishes I’m getting from friends as distant as Elementary School and as recent as my new Beaumont buddies. The only thing separating me from that dude riding the gondola in Marty’s poster is a head of hair and, well, that sexy silhouette.

I have more blog entries stacked up and ready to land like planes at Detroit Metro but I thought I’d just toss out a little of this, a little of that tonight. Now it’s back to my insanely soft couch, followed by my one-of-a-kind bed. Know this, know this from every clean and clear cell in my body; I am going to rid leukemia from my lifestyle and come back as the kind of person I’ve always known I can be. The Rodney BC was a pretty great guy. The Rodney AC will be even cooler.

AC, cooler … no it didn’t really work. But you catch my drift. If you have a better conclusion, please feel free to type it in the Comment section below.